


Smile (and maybe tomorrow)

by SmilinStar



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two words: Flour. Fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smile (and maybe tomorrow)

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse: I was baking. Title: Nat King Cole :-) P.S. This isn't as fluffy as it pretends to be.

\-----

 

He knocks softly once on the front door and waits.

 

A few seconds roll by and its cause enough to wonder if she even heard him. He lifts his hand to knock again but then he hears it. A distant “It's open!” makes it's way through the house and down to him. He wastes little time in letting himself in with a twist of the door knob and the slightest of pushes.

 

The hallway is bright, sunlight streaming in through the glass windows and open curtains of the front room.

 

“Caroline?” he calls out.

 

“In here!”

 

He follows the voice and the steady beat of music spilling from a radio, and finds her in the kitchen. It's no surprise really, given the errand she'd sent him on via text, first thing this morning, where else would she be?

 

She's got her back to him when he enters the room, head bobbing along to a song he doesn't recognise and cracking eggs with a forceful smack against the counter. His lips twitch at the sight. At the rate she's going, he figures she'll need double the number, since he's pretty sure fifty percent of the egg whites have missed the bowl and are instead now dribbling off the side of the counter, puddling on the floor.

 

“So I got what you asked for,” he interrupts, making his presence known. He lifts up the grocery bags in his hands, and waits for her to turn around.

 

“Hey!” Caroline smiles at him as she spins on the spot, curls bouncing around her head as she does. She's decked out in a white apron with little cherries printed all over it, her hair's half tied around her neck, most of it loose, and there's a light dusting of flour on her cheek. She's lovely, and quite possibly the cutest thing he's ever seen, but he's not sure she'd appreciate the sentiment. So he settles for a “Hi” in retort, a smile of his own and leaves the bags still hovering mid air.

 

“Oh, you can just set them down over there,” she points with the wooden spoon.

 

He does as she asks, as she in turn moves towards the small island in the centre, bowl wedged in the crook of her arm, the other hand stirring the mixture with the spoon.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks, as he comes around and stands next to her, lower back leaning against the counter.

 

She looks up at him through a curtain of hair falling across her face and he can literally see the word “Seriously?” written all over it.

 

“Okay, yes,” he says, waving his hand in front of him, “Baking, but what I meant was why?”

 

“Because,” she answers, dropping the bowl onto the counter, “I bought mom some cupcakes yesterday and she ate one, the whole thing Stefan!”

 

She's clearly excited by this development, the frown from a second ago has been turned upside down, and her eyes are once again sparkling.

 

“Okay,” he says carefully, slowly, clearly missing something.

 

“It's good, it's great, it means she still has a little bit of an appetite, and hey if all she wants to eat is sugar, and butter and chocolate, I'm not gonna stop her.”

 

He doesn't say anything, simply nods.

 

Of course, Caroline being Caroline, reads him easily enough, and gets straight to the point;

 

“Don't worry, Stefan. I know one little cupcake and a glimmer of an appetite doesn't mean she's getting better. I know she's still . . . dying.”

 

And he can't help the little wince as she struggles to push that one word out from between her lips.

 

“But,” she continues, “Little things. Okay. It's the little things. It's all I've got.”

 

He sighs his acceptance, “Okay. And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . .”

 

The rest of his sentence trails and he's not sure how to finish it, finds himself reaching out instead and grabbing hold of her hand, squeezing it once, soft and warm in his. He wants to add on a, “You've got me,” but knows its neither the time nor the place.

 

She smiles at the gesture and he finds himself holding her gaze just a second too long.

 

He thinks he's been doing that a lot recently.

 

There's the faintest tinge of pink staining her cheeks as she breaks away first, eyes landing back on the bowl as she says softly, “It's okay.”

 

He turns with her, bumping his shoulder playfully against hers and breaks the tension, just like that, “So what can I do to help?”

 

He swipes his finger along the rim of cake mixture, and she responds in kind by slapping his hand away, “Hey! You can start by washing your hands first and not sticking them in the bowl!”

 

He grins at her, holds out his hands in a sign of surrender and makes a point of turning away to the kitchen sink and turning on the taps.

 

She shakes her head, but the effect of her glare is somewhat lessened by her biting down on her lower lip in an obvious attempt to stifle a burgeoning smile.

 

He tries not to stare any harder.

 

They end up spending the next fifteen minutes working together and it's easy enough. Most of the cake mixture ends up in the baking tray, some of it may or may not have somehow found it's way inside Stefan's mouth, and been swallowed down with barely a hint of remorse. Caroline can't even sustain a frown long enough to be mad. It's the most he's seen her smile in ages and he feels a whole lot lighter with the thought.

 

“There! Done!” She cries out triumphantly as she slides the tray into the preheated oven and closes the door.

 

She lifts her hand, and he dutifully high fives it.

 

It doesn't take long for the sense of accomplishment to fade though, as she turns to look back at the state of the kitchen and the mess they've made. She stands there with her hands on her hips, surveying the damage, before looking up at him expectantly.

 

“Oh no,” he says, “I went and got your chocolate chips, and hundreds and thousands, and tiny little marshmallows. I even salvaged your egg-free batter, unless you actually were going vegan, and in that case I'm sorry I ruined it, but really, I think I've done more than my fair share . . .”

 

She has to realise what she's doing when she stares up at him with those eyes. They're crystal clear in this warm, bright sunlight, and he can almost see his own expression reflecting back in them.

 

It looks a lot like love.

 

And that thought should scare him a lot more than it actually does.

 

“Fine,” he sighs in defeat, and the broadening grin on her face is completely worth his dramatics. He was always going to help, and he thinks she knows that just as well as he. “Fine,” he continues, edging his way back to the counter and away from her, “but if we're going to tidy this mess up, we should probably start with you.”

 

There's a little furrow between her brows as she looks at him in confusion.

 

That expression shifts remarkably fast as she watches him stick his hands in the flour bag and her “Oh no you don't!” ends in a squeal of laughter as he throws a handful at her.

 

“That's cleaning up how?”

 

She's covered in flour, hands limp by her side and she's actually pouting at him.

 

He's struck by a sudden need to kiss her.

 

It comes and hits him like a freight train out of nowhere, and he really wants to hate himself right now. His timing could not be any worse. It's a ridiculous, impulsive thought that he has no business entertaining.

 

Thankfully, she has no idea what's going through his treacherous mind, and she's already angling to declare full out war as she grabs at the flour bag and practically empties the whole thing on him.

 

She steps back, shaking with laughter, and manages to wheeze out, “Edward Cullen, eat your heart out.”

 

He shakes his head, a cloud of white erupting around him, and groans, “Stake me now.”

 

She goes to grab the wooden spoon in threat, turning around to face him but then she just _stops._

 

“What are we doing?” she says, voice low, eyes wide. The smile on her face has vanished, and she's looking at him appalled.

 

And just like that the levity of the moment is gone. And they're back in a world where Liz Forbes is dying of stage four cancer, and for all the magic and supernatural elements they've come across, there's nothing that any one of them can do to stop it. It's a world in which laughter has no place, and though they may try to run from cold hard reality, it always, _always_ catches up to them in the end.

 

It's jarring and abrupt, and catches him off guard.

 

But that's cancer, he thinks.

 

“We shouldn't be doing this,” she says, shaking her head.

 

“Caroline,” he starts, stepping forward towards her, but she's stepping away.

 

“No, we shouldn't be doing this.”

 

“Caroline, it's okay, your mom wouldn't want you-”

 

“To be sad?” she finishes for him, “How can I be anything else but sad! It's the only thing that feels right. I can't be laughing, and smiling and playing around as if none of this is happening!”

 

“Caroline,” he tries again, but she's stepping away again, and snapping out another “No.”

 

She starts grabbing at all the dirty bowls and utensils, dumps them in the kitchen sink, and he stands there at a loss, watching her back as she takes in a deep, steadying breath.

 

It's a long, painful minute before she turns back around, and raises her eyes to meet his.

 

“I'm sorry, I know you're only trying to help, trying to make me _smile_ , but I can't, okay. And I don't want you to feel like you're obligated to be my own personal cheer squad.”

 

“I'm not, that's not what I'm-”

 

“I heard you both.”

 

The pit in his stomach opens up with that. He'd had his suspicions, just like he had his fears that went along with it.

 

He sighs, and looks away.

 

When he looks back up, she's turned away from him again.

 

He walks up behind her and sets a hand on the small of her back, and turns her around to face him. He reaches across the counter, grabs a clean towel and wets it slightly under the running tap. She stares at him silently, and he tries not to get lost in her sad eyes and instead sets about gently wiping the flour off her cheeks and the side of her face.

 

“Stefan?” Her voice is small, and barely above a whisper.

 

He answers her with his free hand, entwining his fingers with hers, “I was never planning to be anywhere else but at your side. Your mom needed that reassurance and I promised her, yes, but I made that same promise to myself long before she asked me.

 

“You're my best friend, Caroline, and I . . . I'm here.”

 

He knows he finally gets through to her when she nods her head, and wipes away her tears with the back of her hand. He's a little surprised though when she makes the first move and steps into him, rests her head against his chest and wraps her arms around his torso.

 

It's been a long time since _she's_ hugged _him_ , but he wastes no time in returning it and holding her tight in his arms.

 

They stay like that awhile, her head under his chin, the sound of water dripping from the tap and her sniffling against his t-shirt, until she finally pulls away from him . . . and sneezes.

 

He blinks.

 

And blinks again.

 

She wrinkles up her nose and mutters, “Flour.”

 

And then he's laughing, it's hard not to.

 

She smiles up at him, shrugs sheepishly before handing him a tea towel.

 

“I wash, you dry.”

 

He nods in response and they get to work.

 

Her smile lingers long after, and he finds himself thinking back on his promise, and knows its one worth keeping.

 

 

 

**End.**

 

 


End file.
